


Boys in Blue

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot, Pre-Canon, artwork, zine story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are graduating from the Police Academy and decide to celebrate. In style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boys in Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in [_Venice Place Chronicles V_](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Venice_Place_Chronicles) and then reprinted in [_Boys in Blue_](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Blue). Finally available online to celebrate the archiving of all my S&H to the AO3!

One hundred and thirty newly-graduated cadets milled about the large hall, mutual congratulations making a burly rumble of sound that reverberated within the old wooden walls. Starsky turned to Hutch and clapped him on the shoulder. Hutch smiled back at him, his eyes bright under his midnight blue officer’s cap.

“Made it, buddy.” Hutch tilted his head, “Feels good, huh?”

Starsky beamed back his relieved delight. There had been a couple of times in the past six months when he wasn’t at all sure he’d make it. The studying part had been easy; the physical training and weapons-handling a total breeze. But the rigid rules and regulations and the kowtowing to his instructors had gotten to him, especially since it seemed like most of them had it in for him from the get-go. Something about his New York attitude seemed to get their backs up. Their constant hazing had grated on him, and he’d acted out a lot. Hutch had gone along with his pranks, but Starsky got the impression he’d done it just to make sure Starsky didn’t go too far over the line in his bursts of rebellion.

Military discipline had never sat well with Starsky. He’d barely tolerated boot camp, and his stint in the Army had been a brief two years working in the motor pool before he’d managed to get out. So sometimes he’d wondered why he was setting himself up for a career of more of the same. At those times, he always seemed to fall into a deep discussion with Hutch, who would go on about what they’d do when they got out of the Academy, how they’d clean up the streets and show the bad guys who was boss. Hutch’s eyes would gleam and his voice would get all deep and righteous, and Starsky would tease him a little for his idealism, but inside he’d be excited at the vision Hutch was painting. Starsky always felt better, afterward.

Or sometimes they wouldn’t even talk. Hutch would just reach for him with those big paws of his and provide a more physical outlet for Starsky’s frustrations. Starsky always felt pretty damned good after that, too.

And, as of today, he was a cop. An officer of the law.

 _You watchin’ this, Pop? Little Davey finally made it._

He looked over at Hutch again and saw the flush on his face that meant he was feeling it, too; the wonder that their lives were really, finally, about to begin. While he looked at his best friend, it seemed like a tunnel was opening up before him with a whoosh, showing him glimpses of a future that was fast rushing toward them—two cops on the street; doing good, doing right. He blinked, and the moment was over. With a pang that dimmed the glow, he reminded himself it was going to take time and some finagling if they were going to get a chance to work together. As rookies, they’d be assigned other partners, probably in completely different precincts. They’d have to learn fast and prove themselves before the future he’d envisioned could become real.

But first, they would celebrate this step. Starsky had plans for tonight; it was time to put them into action.

“Hutch,” he said, interrupting a conversation Hutch was having with another graduate, Peters. Peters was short, blond and cute, one of the four female cadets in their class.

Hutch turned away—reluctantly, judging by his slow movement. He gave an apologetic quirk of his brow to Peters before coming back over to Starsky, saying, “What’s up, buddy?”

“I got an idea. You game?”

Hutch’s easy grin was replaced by a somewhat wary look. “You gonna get us in trouble our first night in blues?” he asked, a little disapprovingly.

“Who, me?” Starsky smiled disarmingly.

The wary look deepened, causing a tiny crease to form between Hutch’s eyebrows. That crease had made an appearance more than a few times since they'd first met six months ago; usually when Starsky was letting him in on his latest scheme.

“I promise, no trouble, Hutch. I’ve got it all worked out.” Hutch looked both resigned and amused, and Starsky knew he was in. “C’mon, let’s hit it.” He grabbed Hutch by the elbow and started tugging his lanky friend toward the door.

“What about the reception?” Hutch cast a disappointed glance toward the tables of food and drink lined up against the long wall. “All that free booze….”

“We’ll be back before it’s over,” Starsky promised. “When did I ever turn down free food?”

Starsky led the way through the crowd, giving nods to familiar faces beneath the uniform caps. It was strange seeing all his fellow cadets in blues. None of them had any dress uniforms yet; they’d have to pay for those themselves, later. Starsky couldn’t wait to get his, but he was looking forward even more to seeing Hutch in full dress, with the black jacket and tie against the white shirt, topped by the gold of his hair. Not that he looked too shabby right now. Starsky looked back and absorbed the sight of Hutch’s lean form in the dark, dark blue, the silver of his badge winking as he strode with those long legs. His black shoes were shined to a polish. He looked…hot.

Starsky’s pace became more urgent.

~*~*~

Hutch followed his intrepid, irrepressible roomie,  casting  a covert glance at the taut butt covered in his uniform slacks. Hutch really liked the different look; like a new cover on a favorite old book. He was used to seeing Starsky in blue jeans that seemed to defy the laws of physics; how he fit the cubic volume of his full, rounded ass inside the too-tight denim was a miracle of Science. And his jeans always seemed to be faded in just the right places, drawing attention to certain areas at which Hutch, as a fellow male cadet, shouldn’t be caught staring.

Resolutely, Hutch raised his eyes and followed his friend through the door of the hall, down the steps, and along the tree-lined paths of the Academy. He lengthened his stride to come alongside his friend. By habit, he took the right, since he was right-handed and Starsky a leftie. He couldn’t remember when they had started doing that, but it seemed so natural, now. With a start, Hutch suddenly realized if they ever made partners, this arrangement would leave both their gun hands full range of movement, unhindered by the dominant hand of the other. _We’re already thinking like partners,_ he thought with a flush of pride, but then tamped down on his elation. It would be a long, long time before they would be partners, if ever. There were no guarantees that they would. He sighed, and felt Starsky’s sidelong glance.

“What was that for?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

“Just wondering if we’ll ever make it—get to be partners, I mean.” Hutch voiced the thought reluctantly, not wanting to spoil the good mood.

“’Course we will,” Starsky stated, as if he had a crystal ball. Hutch smiled quietly at the confident assertion.

Hutch looked ahead down the path; it seemed Starsky was taking them toward the driving grounds. The only building in that area was the garage where the practice vehicles were kept. As they neared the structure, Hutch got an inkling of what Starsky was planning, and his heart pounded a little with excitement. He knew Starsky had his own key; he had been earning extra money to make ends meet by working as a part-time mechanic on the black and whites housed there. Starsky took a quick look around and Hutch followed suit; the grounds were completely empty. Apparently, everyone was back at the celebration. Satisfied they were unobserved, Starsky unlocked the door and ushered Hutch in with a quick flourish.

Hutch laughed softly as Starsky flipped on the light switch and locked the door behind them. “You know, if we get caught, they could bust us right out of these new uniforms. I know you’re allowed to be here after hours, but I’m not.”

Starsky’s only reply was a snort of exasperation, and Hutch let it drop. He was having too much fun.

The garage was lit by a set of florescent lights over the work area; to the right, trapped in shadow, the old black and whites that were used for driver’s training sat patiently in a row, waiting for the next class of cadets to come and abuse them.

In the work area, under the light, sat one lone cruiser, the left rear wheelwell hiked up on a jack. Other than a missing wheel, the car was in perfect shape, its paint job crisp, and the BCPD signet on the door vivid and easily legible. _To Protect and Serve_. Hutch felt a shiver. __

“I was working on this one today,” Starsky said, whispering for some reason. “Has a timing problem, too, but I don’t know why they sent it here, it’s in great shape, still.” Hutch nodded, in a daze. “C’mon,” Starsky said, a little louder.

Hutch let himself get dragged over to the car. Starsky gave him a push, and Hutch tugged open the passenger door, then climbed in.

Starsky rounded the front casually, his hips jutting back and forth in his trademark walk. Hutch grinned as Starsky got into the driver’s seat.

They looked at each other. It was perfect. Both of them in uniform, side by side in the front seat of their own black and white. Hutch remembered his doubts of earlier, and knew with sudden certainty that Starsky was absolutely right. They would get here, and soon. They would be partners.

Hutch reached for the radio unit, picking up the handset and holding it to his mouth. “This is Hutchinson, can I get a 10-20 on that 211? Over.” He heard Starsky’s chuckle and suppressed one of his own. “10-4, we are on our way. Over and out.”

“Let’s go in Code 2,” Starsky said. He reached up and gripped the wheel at ten and two o’clock. “You ready?” Hutch nodded. “Hang on tight.” Starsky made a comical, screeching tire noise as he pretended to peel the corner, turning the wheel slightly. Hutch heard an ominous creak and grabbed his arm.

“Careful. Don’t want it to come off the jack.”.

Starsky gave him a sheepish look and engaged the parking brake with his foot. “Just in case,” he said. Then he looked back at Hutch and tilted his head. The move put his eyes in shadow, and Hutch couldn’t quite read them.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we’re cops now. I’m thinking someday soon, we’ll be partners. And I’m thinking…” Starsky stopped momentarily, and when he continued, his voice had dropped. “Let’s have one, last, crazy night,” he said suggestively.

Hutch was familiar with that particular tone. The last time he’d heard it, Starsky’s date had walked kind of funny the next day.

“You thinking of making me walk funny tomorrow?” Hutch said, smiling a little. Starsky got his meaning immediately, and grinned back, all teeth.

“Actually, I was thinking you’d put that new nightstick of yours to good use.” Starsky leaned back against the door and spread his legs invitingly. The dark blue material stretched taut over his groin, and Hutch’s eyes took in the bulge that was barely contained there. He looked up past the black gun belt with the cuffs hanging down, up the slim torso to Starsky’s blue-clad chest, thinking of the soft chest hair that was hidden beneath the row of black buttons. He shuddered, and, within three quick beats, his heart had filled his groin with a blazing heat.

The heat warred with his head, which was already feeling the lack of blood supply. This was risky beyond belief. But somehow the night felt like magic; like nothing bad could possibly happen. And Hutch couldn’t resist the lure of Starsky’s deep blue gaze. He slid across the bench seat and tilted his head, leaning in for a kiss.

The rim of his hat banged into Starsky’s, giving them both a jolt. Hutch pulled back, startled. He’d forgotten he was wearing it.

Starsky reached up and lifted off Hutch’s cap, running his other hand through the hair at his temple. “Love seeing all that blondness under the black, babe. You look…beautiful.”

Hutch shook his head. He had his own definition of beauty, wild and dark. He was staring at it, aching to possess it once again. _He should always wear blue._

Starsky reached up to remove his own hat, but Hutch caught his hand. “Leave it on,” he whispered, his voice a husky plea. And then he was capturing Starsky’s lips with his own, tugging at their softness, trapping the lower between his to suck. When he pulled back, the swollen pout that had resulted was enough to make his cock thump demandingly. He leaned in again, pressing Starsky back against the door, taking it deep. _Ravish…ravish him,_ his head was chanting and his tongue and mouth were doing it, claiming Starsky greedily. This time, when he pulled back, Starsky was panting, eyes naked with need.

“Hoo, boy,” came the breathless voice.

Hutch grinned and sat upright. “You look so good,” he said, a little breathless himself. He ran his hands down the strong chest, over the stiff cloth, massaging.

Starsky grabbed his hands. “Let’s get in the back.” His tone was urgent.

Hutch scrambled over the seat to land in the back. He straightened, puzzled, as he watched Starsky exit the car and make a detour to the garage door. Understanding came when he saw Starsky pull over the bar latch and lock the padlock dangling there. Starsky then hustled back to the cruiser, joining Hutch in the back seat.

“Safe and snug,” Starsky grinned.

Hutch felt a little knot of tension ease within him. Getting caught trespassing was one thing; getting caught trespassing in Starsky’s pants would have meant an abrupt end to both their careers before they’d even begun. He sighed with relief, and then reached for Starsky, his hands busy yanking Starsky’s shirt out of his pants so he could run them up underneath, teasing his nipples in the way he knew his friend loved. Starsky groaned and arched his back, trying to give him more access. Hutch pinched and rolled the little nubs, then palmed the stiffened peaks before trapping them between his fingers. He moved his hands in small circles, enjoying the shudders of delight coming from beneath his hands.

“Oh, babe.” Starsky reached for Hutch, but Hutch pulled back, and moved on to Starsky’s belt, unhooking it quickly.

 _Jesus he makes me hard._ “I’m so hard for you,” Hutch whispered, “Gonna fuck you into next week, buddy.”

Starsky moaned at the promise. Then Hutch had him unzipped. To his surprise, Starsky was wearing no underwear. Starsky gave him a devilish look.

“Tsk, tsk.” Hutch pretended disapproval, but was utterly turned on by his friend’s audaciousness. He grasped Starsky’s cock and stroked it hard. Starsky fell back and arched his hips into Hutch’s hand, his name tag gleaming with the movement.

“Christ,” Hutch muttered, his excitement flaring at the sight. “Turn over.” He grunted it, suddenly incapable of polite phrasing. Starsky smiled wickedly before turning to rest his head on his forearms, his ass raised high in the close quarters, knees tucked under him. The weight of his gun belt pulled at his pants, revealing the crack of his ass.

Hutch yanked Starsky’s blues down roughly to expose the muscular, round cheeks. Then he pushed the tail of his shirt up to run his hands along the smooth back before turning his fingers down to capture the globes of his buttocks. He squeezed rhythmically a few times before his right hand continued the journey to fondle his balls.

Starsky groaned and raised his ass higher, inviting further touch. But Hutch stopped suddenly, chagrined.

“Starsk,” he had to clear his throat of debris, “No way I’m gonna do you on spit, buddy. I’m too…I can’t be careful.”

Starsky gave a husky chuckle then lifted his head, cap tilted at a crazy angle. “You think my ass doesn’t remember the size of that monster? But, what kinda cop would I be if I weren’t prepared? Right-hand pocket, Blondie.” Starsky dropped his head again.

“Planned this whole thing,” Hutch murmured, disbelievingly. “And anyway,” louder, “that’s Boy Scouts who are supposed to be prepared." He located Starsky’s pocket in the folds of material and squirreled his hand inside until he located the small tube. _Thank God._ Just the thought of stopping had made his balls ache.

Hutch looked down at the vulnerable ass as he squeezed out some lube. He ruffled the small arrow of fine hairs just above the crack before moving his hand to pull the left cheek to the side and slicking the channel up and down, his fingers brushing the sensitive anus on each pass. Starsky’s asshole clenched and released, and he gave a little gasp. Hutch’s cock turned to steel. _Oh, God. Gotta get in there._

Hutch applied more lube to two fingertips and penetrated the puckered little entrance, turning his fingers just inside to spread the grease. Starsky’s ass jumped up eagerly, and Hutch pushed deeper to the music of Starsky’s groans. _So hot._ Hutch finger-fucked Starsky, getting him good and greased, and then moved his fingers deep and pressed down until Starsky clenched around him with another groan. _Gotcha._ Hutch did it again, and again, until Starsky was fairly writhing against his fingers. It was the sexiest goddamn thing Hutch had ever seen.

“Your fucking fingers are as big as the rest of you. So good.” Starsky gasped as Hutch stretched him, preparing him for penetration.

He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t get his cock up Starsky’s ass, and soon.

Hutch pulled his fingers out and unfastened his belt and pants, pushing them off his hips just far enough to expose his erection. He prepped his cock generously with the lube, squeezed his balls once to ease the terrible ache, and then sat back for a second, trying to get his lust-fogged brain to work out the logistics. “Starsk, come up here.” He tugged at his shoulders, turning him so he faced the back window, guiding his hands to the top of the back seat. Then Hutch sidled in behind him, between his legs, and placed his left hand next to Starsky’s. Hutch leaned in close over his shoulder to bump his cheek, and Starsky turned his head for a kiss.

They swapped tongues,  Hutch bending Starsky’s head back with a moan of gratitude before lifting his lips to run them up the strong cheekbone to his temple. “Assume the position,” he muttered, his voice barely functioning. A low chuckle answered him. Then Hutch pulled back and pushed up Starsky’s shirt. Taking himself in hand, he hunched down until he could slide his cock up to the tight heat that awaited him.

He moved the head of his cock in a massaging motion at Starsky’s entrance, making him anticipate the hardness that would take him. Starsky was panting a little, his back a taut bow as he waited. Then, with a smooth motion, Hutch pushed in forcefully, claiming him.

Starsky’s grunt at the penetration was drowned out by Hutch’s moan of approval. “Oh, yeah.” He paused there for a moment, feeling the slick muscular channel tug at him as it quivered around his bulk. He bent his head to find the back of Starsky’s neck with his lips and nuzzled him there just below the short curls.

“More. More.” Starsky was begging for his cock, and Hutch leaned back and obliged, thrusting up and in, to Starsky’s shattered groan. Hutch’s shoulders touched the back of the front seat, and he released his hold on the seatback to brace his shoulders on the seat behind him.

“Come to me,” Hutch said, and Starsky let himself fall back slowly, sinking onto Hutch’s cock, wriggling his hips to ease his impalement. He made it almost all the way before lifting himself up again, and then sliding further back. Hutch moaned at the tightness, his cock throbbing madly as it moved deep, deeper.

“Fuck yourself on my cock,” Hutch said, his voice a rough command. Starsky groaned and obeyed, moving up and down, his hips tilting a little as he sought the perfect angle. Then Starsky started humping his cock at a slow, regular tempo guaranteed to drive Hutch out of his mind.

“Oh. Ohhh.” Hutch’s entire being was centered on the sensation of Starsky fucking his cock and the thrilled sounds coming from his friend. He couldn’t help raising his hips to meet the downward thrust, and heard the appreciative gasp at the added penetration. He grabbed Starsky’s hips and continued thrusting with his own; harder, now, and a little faster. He wasn’t going to last long.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” came Starsky’s deep voice, begging.

Hutch pushed off with his shoulders to lunge up, grabbing the back of the seat with both hands. Using the strength of his arms he got serious, pounding hard into his friend’s tight ass, relishing Starsky’s delighted cries even as he grunted, himself, cursing at how good it was. With each swing of his hips the cuffs on his belt jangled, and his gun holster slapped gently against the back of Starsky’s thigh with a leathery ‘thwap.’

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.” Hutch pulled back slowly to thrust deep and fast, doing it again, insane with pleasure.

“Jesus. God.” Starsky’s voice was ragged.

The car was rocking now, and Hutch’s brain was reeling with the ecstasy of feeling Starsky around him. Starsky was chanting something under his breath; Hutch couldn’t make it out. He leaned closer, hearing the words.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, God.”

Hutch growled and shifted to pull back further before slamming up hard. Hutch was getting close; he felt his balls start to tighten like fists, the pleasure collecting in his groin as he rocked them and the car with his powerful thrusts. Starsky cried out and Hutch pistoned again, his arms pulling his weight up as he nailed Starsky’s prostate. Starsky gave a surprised shout, squeezing Hutch convulsively. Hutch thrust up and froze, and with a shocking groan of protest, the car suddenly slid sideways to land with a crash.

All of Starsky’s weight came down onto Hutch’s lap, impaling him deep onto Hutch’s cock, and Hutch screamed as he came helplessly, his cock shooting the contents of his balls in a rhythmic pulse. “GOD. GOD,” Hutch cried out, then whimpered as sensation overwhelmed him. He heard Starsky moan low, and he could feel that delicious ass loving him, milking him with the throes of Starsky’s own orgasm. They both trembled and groaned for a timeless age, before Hutch slumped back with a sigh.

“Christ.” Hutch didn’t want to move, ever. His abused cock was still somewhat hard in spite of his orgasm, and aching; he wondered if it were possible to sprain your dick. He dreaded to think how Starsky’s ass felt at that moment. “You okay, buddy?”

Starsky moaned, “Hell no, Hutch. You fucking reamed me.” But Hutch smiled when Starsky’s quiet chuckle filled the car.

“Jesus, don’t!” Hutch begged as Starsky continued to laugh, his muscles tightening around Hutch’s sensitive flesh.

“Sorry, pal.” Starsky quieted. “I think the next move’s up to you.”

Hutch eased slowly sideways, giving a pitiable moan as he slipped from Starsky’s anus. Starsky was making some not-so-pleased noises of his own. Finally, they separated. Starsky turned and lifted his hips long enough to pull his pants up before dropping his feet to the floor. Hutch pulled back against the other window and unbent his long legs.

“Guess you could say we brought down the house.” Hutch enjoyed the dirty look his quip had earned him.

“Shut up.” Starsky shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, you got a hankie?”

Hutch sighed and dug through his pocket for the handkerchief Starsky knew he always carried. He watched idly as Starsky reached back to clean his ass before offering it back to Hutch, who looked at him in disbelief. Starsky grinned and stuck the wadded up cloth into his own pocket. Hutch looked at the splash of semen Starsky had left dripping down the back of the seat.

“This seat needs a hose-down.” Hutch bit his tongue when he realized what he’d just said. “Don’t.” He glared at Starsky, who had opened his mouth only to promptly shut it again.

“You do realize we’re gonna have to clean our uniforms before we start work on Monday,” Starsky said, grinning.

“Monday…” Hutch said thoughtfully.

“Yeah.” Starsky looked eager, and a little frightened. Hutch knew Starsky could read the same trepidation on his own face.

“Shit.” Starsky got serious about reassembling his uniform. “We gotta get back. They’re gonna post our assignments, remember?” His hat had fallen off at some point and he dug it up from the floor.

“Oh, wow.” Hutch opened the door quickly and got out of the car, holding up his pants by the belt with one hand. He saw a pile of clean shop rags on the workbench and shuffled over to grab one and clean up before pulling his pants back up. He hissed as he eased his poor cock back into his underwear before tucking in his shirt. Grabbing a couple more rags, he went back to the cruiser to wipe down the back seat.

Starsky had exited the car and straightened his own uniform. As he came around the side of the vehicle Hutch noted with a smile that he was, indeed, walking a little funny. Hutch bit his lip on a comment.

Bending down by the back wheel, Starsky got busy re-setting the jack and cranking the car up. Hutch offered him a rag and Starsky grimaced as he wiped off his hands. They paused and contemplated the black and white for a long moment, both lost in thought.

But time was wasting. “How do I look?” Hutch said worriedly, brushing at his creased uniform. The answer wasn’t quick in coming, and he lifted his eyes to the steady blue of his friend’s.

“Like a million bucks,” Starsky said softly. “You look like a cop.” Hutch flushed with pleasure at the quiet assessment.

“You, too…partner.” He said the last with his whole heart in it, wishing it were already the truth. He saw Starsky swallow.

“Big softie.” Starsky said gruffly, and Hutch grinned.

“Mushbrain.”

“Dirtbag,” Starsky tilted his head, waiting.

“Ding-dong,” Hutch gave Starsky a little shove.

“I’ll ding your dong,” Starsky said threateningly, shoving back.

Hutch laughed and slung an arm around Starsky’s shoulder, turning him toward the door.

“You already did, partner. You already did.”

 

 _The End._

 

 


	2. "Younger Days," drawing by Enednoviel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pencil drawing by [Enednoviel](http://www.shartwork.net/art_enednoviel.html).


End file.
